Son of the Unspoiled Forest
by SofiaDragon
Summary: There is something wrong in the forest tonight. A young child has been found alone. Who is the dark man who finds him? Who is the child? How did he get there?
1. Prolouge

Holt - Son of the Unspoiled Forest

A dark man stalked through the forest. This land had belonged to his mother's family for generations stretching back so far that history itself had forgotten when they had arrived. His father, possessed of a distinctive wanderlust that plagued his family, had strayed up to these northern woods and become lost. The forest was a cruel and haunted place, full of dangers, and it was a wonder that the pair had found each other in the twisted underbrush. They loved one another still, the dark man liked to think, and he thought that assumption was justified. Love was a powerful magic that lasted well past death, and since they had been buried together in the heart of the wood three years ago many of the outright evil creatures that lived here had either fled or been found dead. There were still many dangers in this forest, but death is necessary for life. The man stepped into a clearing and turned his emerald eyes to the sky. The quarter moon lit the sky, accompanied by her chorus of stars. Darkness and evil were so often confused by the young, the blind, and the foolish. His own best friend found him creepy.

The raven haired man smiled as he thought of the hot-tempered man who was most likely asleep; along with most of the castle they called home. There would be a lamp lit in the library, he was sure, with a witch and possibly a few of her students up late doing research over the holiday. He envied her ability to dive into old tomes and loose herself to her research. He had inherited his father's wanderlust and couldn't be contained by the walls of the castle.

A rustle in the underbrush caught his attention. The dark man dropped down into a crouch, concealing his tall frame in the weedy brush at the edge of the forest. The quiet sound of scales on leaves was coming closer, and the man relaxed a little though he did not rise.

"Friend, is that you?" The man hissed.

"Yes, Lord of the Forest, it is Cerberus." The large black viper replied, sliding into view between the branches.

"Why have you come to me, Cerberus? I have never come across you in this wood save when you need me." The gaunt man held out a hand to caress the deadly beauty. The snake curled against it much like a touch-starved kitten, and would have purred in pleasure if it had the ability.

"There has been a disturbance. A human, barely out of the shell, has come to the forest in a most violent way." The dark creature sounded unsure and curious. "The magical outburst was considerable. If I did not know the strength of the wards around your home I would be surprised you did not already know of it."

"Point the way, and please explain what you mean as we go."

"It appeared in a brilliant flash of magic, Lord, and has slept since. Most of the creatures of the forest fear it and will not come near. The ground is scorched and the trees bent away from the force of the magic. There is no scent I could taste over the burnt wood and overturned earth, but it sleeps peacefully at the center and appears unharmed. I can say there is not much if any blood on the human, but no more." The curious serpent slithered along the forest floor. They moved through the forest quickly, passing like a breeze through the thick undergrowth and leaving little evidence of their passing. They seemed to melt through the trees rather than turning to go around them. It wasn't long before the potions trained nose of his human Lord could pick up the rich scent of burnt sod and freshly plowed earth. They neared the place where this mystery child lay. Magic sparkled violently in the air as they neared, giving the odd pair an uneasy feeling. Clearly, it was meant as a warning to stay back.

"By the moon and stars…" the Lord gasped as he looked at the trees ahead. The trees had been pushed back into a near solid circle, a cricket would be lucky to squeeze through the trunks and reach the tiny heap of tattered clothes at the center, but Cerberus showed him where the circle of trees was open on one side. It was barely wide enough for him to walk through without stepping sideways, but only just. The Lord entered the cleared space carefully, leaving deep footprints in the plowed earth. The sheer force that it would take to shove back trees that had stood rooted in place for centuries untold…he shook himself out of his wonder and knelt carefully over the sleeping child. There was no telling if the magic that hung thick in the air was set to attack a perceived threat or if it was simply the leftover imprint of the explosion that pushed back the forest. He moved cautiously, ready to bolt back out the opening at a moment's notice.

As he turned the child over he noticed the clothing was oversized and threadbare. Beneath the loose clothing there were bruises and cuts, and for a moment the Lord wondered if this was some overly powerful and disgusting way to get rid of an unwanted child, before he noticed that many of the bruises were in the shape of a large hand. Rage coursed its way through him, but he clamped down on it. Becoming angry would not help the fragile child lying in the rich earth before him, and might just bring that magical residue down on his head. He lifted the child gently, cradling it as gently as he could. The rags were too torn to tell him anything, but a quick check told him he was holding a boy. The young boy was, as Cerberus had said, barely old enough to be called a boy. Going by size alone the gaunt man would say he held a toddler, but the proportions and shape of the face made it clear that the tiny boy was at least four if not older. The child stirred as the Lord stood.

"I am Lord Salazar Slytherin, and you are safe with me. No child in my care has ever come to harm, by my hand or otherwise," the Lord soothed. "You have nothing to fear from me or this wood." The child settled down into deep sleep again without truly waking and the dark man left the clearing as quickly as he dared. Once some distance was put between him and the clearing he broke into a sprint, flying across the ground with practiced grace. In no time Hogwarts castle appeared through the trees, the warm glow of firelight illuminating the raven-haired pair as they broke through the last of the underbrush. Lord Salazar looked down at the young wizard – the magic of the clearing had clung to the child so fiercely it could only have been the child's own doing – and saw a strange scar peaking out from between the bruises on the boy's face. A lightning bolt was etched into the center of the boy's forehead, not quite spanning the distance between his hairline and his nose. It seemed fitting, given that he had appeared in a flash, and he had to wonder if the child had received it when he appeared in the clearing.

* * *

A/N: I know I should be updating DP, but this has been bouncing around in my head so long I just had to do it. I'll be trying out a very loose style in this one, and won't keep track of every day of the story the way I do with DP. Salazar is indeed 'from fen' as is said in cannon, or at least his father's family is. I'm having his mum be a Scott to have him meet Rowena when he's a half pint and make him more worldly. He would have traveled back and forth from England to Scottland in his youth, exposing him to more at an early age. 


	2. A Name

A Name

"He's such a little charmer," the oldest woman in the room cooed, rolling a bright rainbow-colored ball to the happy boy. The thin, graying woman smiled at her younger companions from her seat on a pillow next to a bookcase. "Hard to imagine he's so powerful just by looking at him, or that he spent such a long time on the brink of death." The young child caught the ball and bounced it back to a plump redheaded lady. It landed in her lap.

"Honestly, Helga, his quick recovery is evidence enough of his magical ability," the red-head argued, and then tossed the ball at the husky brunette who sat behind the desk. It bounced off his unwary head. The woman laughed from her window seat and the child smiled brightly.

"Rowena, you shouldn't do things like that in front of him. He's likely to imitate it," the regal man quietly raged. "You don't want to teach him to hit people with their back turned, do you?"

"Calm down Godric," Rowena sighed. "You take everything so seriously. Besides, you weren't paying attention again. We have to come up with a solution to this little one's problem." She indicated the young boy, now wearing a shrunken set of old blue robes Helga had dug out. They had belonged to her son several decades ago, and the great-grandchild she was expecting any day now wouldn't miss them.

"There isn't a problem," a previously silent dark shadow in the corner grumbled.

"There most certainly is a problem, Salazar," Godric pronounced. "We all agreed that no children under the age of eleven should come to Hogwarts, and that we would raise our own children in our own homes. It promotes discipline, order, and structure. Every child arrives at Hogwarts with little or no knowledge about how Hogwarts is run so that they can't take advantage of any loopholes or hiding places. It helps us flush out the troublemakers the first year. He can't stay here." The young man in question walked over to the ball and brought it back to his corner. The sunlight shone off his raven hair as he examined the swirling pattern on the ball, which was actually moving and spinning like multicolored clouds.

"We have to at least attempt to find his family," Rowena added.

"He's been here a month, awake for a week, and has only been well enough to be out of bed for a day, and has yet to say a single word to any of us," Helga sighed. "Powerful or not, he might be damaged mentally by the ordeal."

"Look at him," Salazar ordered. "He cringes when you speak as if he is not here about sending him away. He goes still with obvious terror when his family is mentioned. If he can't speak, he can certainly hear and understand us." He left his shadowy corner and walked over to the child, who huddled into the spot of sun he was sitting in as if it could protect him.

"We can't keep him here, Salazar. There are too many ways that he could get hurt, by an accident he causes or one of the students. I can't count how many cauldrons exploded yesterday alone in my class," Godric ranted, gesturing wildly. "It is for his own safety that he leaves Hogwarts."

"Since my mother's death, the things that happen in that forest are my responsibility." The lean man stooped down to the child's level. "You landed in my forest, and so I am responsible for you. You are mine now, and the people who hurt you will not be getting you back. Can you understand that?"

"Don't make him any promises yet! Where are you going to put him, Salazar? Unless you can come up with a replacement for one of your subjects you won't be able to spend much time with him, either, and after the fiasco a few years back no one will take the Care of Magical Creatures position. Hardly anyone will go near that forest until it settles down," Helga pointed out.

"It has settled down! It is safer now than it has been in years. It was an exodus: the forest was purged of all the outright evil creatures. That is why it seemed so active, they were all leaving!" The boy walked over to the irate man and sat down next to his knee.

"I know that," Helga snapped, "but hardly any one else does. All they know is that a group of lethifolds took out twelve people before being rounded up, and they came from your forest."

"Nevertheless, he is my responsibility." Salazar had turned so his face was half in the light, half in shadow. "He was neither properly fed nor taken care of by his previous caretakers. He showed clear signs of physical abuse on a level that even with the things we have lived through, made everyone in this room loose their dinners. If you wish to try and locate the boy's family you may, but I have no intention of doing anything of the sort. Accidents do not happen in that wood. There is ancient magic there, older than any of us can know. That I chose to walk in the wood that night rather than visit the village, grade the mountain of papers on my desk, read a book, or go to bed means something to me."

"He has a point," Rowena said.

"You teach Divinations, Rowena," Godric drawled. "Everything 'means something' to you. Personally, I prefer a more pragmatic approach. Salazar, you go walking through that forest as often as twice a week. The odds that he fell out of the sky on a night you took a walk aren't all that impressive. That you found him before he died was dumb luck, and certainly not cosmic." The indicated Divinations and Charms professor glared.

"Godric, we love you for your pragmatism, but you are the only one in this room who doesn't believe in fate," Helga warmly reminded him. "It is a characteristic common in potion masters, and I imagine it comes in handy during arithmatic calculations, but don't overdo it." She pushed back a stray bit of grey-blond hair and levered herself off the pillow she had been sitting on. Even with its ample cushion her old bones didn't like being set down on the staff room floor for extended periods. She stole the chair Salazar had been sitting in, moving it closer to the window and the younger witch.

"Nevertheless, you have a point. Salazar does not have the means to care for a child," Rowena admitted.

"It is unfortunate, but true." Godric looked at his friend in sympathy. "Persephone's actions were ill-advised, but they can not be undone."

"My wife's death was painful. That she wrote in her will that our children be taken in by her sister in France rather than continue to live with me is incomprehensible, but I have honored her dieing wish even though I suspect some treachery was involved. At twenty and eighteen my sons are too old to be taken in by their grandsire's twisted mind, and I have no doubt they will return to Scotland when they complete their mastery. They are both men in their own right, and better men then I at their age. I doubt they will become so enamored of France and 'continental life' that they forget their roots here in Scotland and England. That being said I don't see how any of that has to do with my ability to care for this young boy."

"He's four year old, Salazar!" Helga gasped. "Without a wife, how can you expect to care for him properly? He needs a mother."

"I… have not… been without suitors…" the dark man uncomfortably admitted.

"That's a different story, then," Rowena smiled. "You haven't told us you were courting anyone. Who is she?"

"Do tell, Salazar. We hate it when you keep such wonderful news to yourself," Helga chimed in.

"It is great news," Godric added, "I've been worried about you being alone. A new wife would be good for you, but would she accept a child like our young guest?"

"How dare you imply…! My wife's funeral pyre is practically still smoking. I simply mean that I have had offers… the war left no shortage of widows looking for someone to support them, and there have always been fathers looking to marry their old maids off. I'm sure some of them would be agreeable, but give me some time to morn her passing," Salazar balked and the other three giggled at him, apologizing for teasing him as they knew full well it hadn't been long enough. They quieted down quite suddenly when they realized the young boy was giggling too, hiding it with their own laughter and Salazar's leg. The tall man lifted the child into his arms and, after a moment of examination, removed one of the boy's leather boots.

"What are you doing?" Godric asked.

"I am conducting an experiment. I will admit that if this boy has problems with his voice caused by his treatment or the magic that brought him here I am ill equipped to care for him alone. On the other hand, if he if perfectly normal and just abnormally quiet for a child his age I shouldn't have any problem. I've raised two sons; a third shouldn't be too hard." The man sat down in a high-backed armchair and held the boy firmly with one arm. Then he started tickling the little stocking foot that dangled by his knee. It twitched a few times, then the whole boy twitched, and finally bubbling laughter filled the room. It was quiet and a little scratchy, as if the boy had not spoken in a long time. Salazar wondered if the child had ever laughed so freely. "There, now we know you can speak. Will you tell us your name?" They waited a moment, and the boy shook his head.

"I'm the boy," the tiny voice whispered.

"Not anymore, you aren't," Salazar declared. The other three gathered around, making the little one a bit uncomfortable. "Your name will be Holt."

"The son of the unspoiled forest," Rowena's encyclopedic knowledge of meaning supplied in a quiet voice. "Are you sure of that name?"

"Holt Dolan Bram Keegan Slytherin," Salazar rattled off, "a full and proper name for a fully adopted son. You will be my son from this day on, alright?" The little boy nodded and smiled, shifting to sit on his unprotected foot.

"A fierce little dark raven of the unspoiled forest, if I didn't know better I'd say you have been doing research into names recently, Salazar," Helga commented as she integrated the meaning of all the names.

"A fierce shadow in the forest…" Godric murmured, "Why do I get the feeling we've gotten mixed up in something much bigger than a homeless child?"

* * *

A/N: So, what is the verdict? This is a new style for me, I've only used it in one other story, very sparce with carefully selected details arranged and revealed carefully. Is it good? Alright? Horrible? Better than my other style? (assuming you've read something else I've written) The other one like this is "Little Things."  



End file.
